


Personal Identification Number

by laugh_a_latte



Series: Side Effects [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I really want to give them a hug, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Squip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: When Jeremy can't remember his PIN, he realizes some small part of the Squip is still blocking Michael.(Russian translation by wallie.txt on fibook.net available!)





	Personal Identification Number

**Author's Note:**

> This thought entered my brain while checking out at the store today, so have this weird 'what if' fic!
> 
> Now translated into RUSSIAN by the amazing wallie.txt on ficbook! They kindly translated the whole Side Effects series, so HUGE thank you!!  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/8383353

Jeremy’s hand freezes over the number pad as sweat breaks out on his palms. He stares at the number pad, waiting for it to come to him. It doesn’t.

He can’t remember his PIN.

Even the muscle memory is gone.

Why can’t he remember his PIN?

Don’t panic.

“You can enter your PIN now,” the bored cashier informs him again with a sigh, drumming her fingers against the counter. Jeremy’s eyes slip from his shaking index finger to her long nails. They’re pink. One of the acrylics is missing.

“Jeremy?” Michael prompts. Jeremy licks his lips and blinks rapidly. This can’t be happening.

“I can’t remember the PIN,” Jeremy confesses quietly, wishing the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

God, that cashier must think he’s the stupidest person alive.

Jeremy feels Michael shift next to him as he stares at where the missing acrylic should be. Michael’s hand brushes against his, still hovering over the numbers, as Michael enters Jeremy's PIN.

Why can’t he remember his own PIN?

What is wrong with him?

 _So much_ a voice informs him.

He barely hears the cashier wish him a good one. Michael pulls at Jeremy’s sleeve. Jeremy starts walking.

“Why can’t I remember my PIN?” Jeremy wonders aloud when they’re out of the Seven Eleven, standing in front of Michael’s cruiser. He shakes his head and glances at Michael. Michael is wearing a very odd expression as he looks at Jeremy. No, he’s not looking.

He’s staring.

“Michael?”

“Do you remember anything about your PIN?”

“It’s four numbers long?” Jeremy supplies, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“Jeremy, remember how we got our debit cards the same day?” Michael says with a careful tone. Jeremy nods. Jeremy knows that tone well.

“We had a cool idea for our PINs, yeah?” Michael continues as he toys with an elastic bracelet on his wrist. Jeremy nods again. Jeremy knows that action well.

“Do you know my PIN?” Michael asks. Jeremy nods. Jeremy knows Michael’s signs enough to know how he’s upset, but trying not to let Jeremy onto that.

“Zero-three-one-zero,” Jeremy replies. How could he ever forget? An awful sinking pools into his chest, dropping to his stomach. Jeremy knows Michael so well.

“That’s—”

“My birthday,” Jeremy finishes, an edge of panic creeping into his voice. If Jeremy knows Michael so well, then why can’t he remember Michael’s birthday?

“Jeremy?” Michael says tentatively when Jeremy doesn’t respond, taking a step towards him.

“I-I can’t remember your b-birthday,” Jeremy stutters. Great, now _that’s_ back. 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Michael says.

Jeremy’s eyes snap up to Michael’s because he knows how completely _not_ okay it is. Jeremy can’t remember Michael’s birthday. Michael’s upset, but he’s not going to tell Jeremy that because Michael knows it’s a Squip Thing. And Michael gets upset by Squip Things, but pretends not to so Jeremy doesn’t get upset. It’s all for Jeremy’s sake, and it’s not right. Jeremy thinks that over and over as he looks at Michael’s forced half smile and soft eyes.

Michael should be allowed get upset. To yell and scream at Jeremy and never talk to him again, and Jeremy would understand because that’s what Jeremy _deserves_ , but Michael would never do that because that’s not who Michael is. And it isn’t fair, because Michael hides his hurt from Jeremy behind careful words and elastic bracelets because Michael’s concerned that by the simple, reasonable reaction of being hurt, he’ll hurt Jeremy right back.

Michael does all of this for Jeremy. Pretends and puts up with Squip shit, even when it arises at the oddest most innocent times. And Jeremy can’t even remember Michael’s birthday.

“I can’t remember,” Jeremy repeats as his throat closes up and tears prickle his eyes, “M-Michael.”

“Buddy, it’s not your fault,” Michael says, leading Jeremy to the passenger door as Jeremy covers his face with his sleeve because that sentence just makes him cry harder.

It _is_ his fault. He took the Squip. He let it block Michael. And some small stupid stubborn piece of it is _still_ blocking Michael.

“Zero-nine-two-zero. That’s your PIN,” Michael says quietly as they pull away from the convenience store.

“Zero-nine-two-zero,” Jeremy repeats. “Zero-nine-two-zero.” That’s . . . Jeremy’s heartbeat quickens. He chest tightens and an awful noise escapes from his throat. He can’t breathe properly. “ _Michael._ ”

Jeremy’s blood rushes through his ears and Jeremy can’t breathe. Michael’s PIN is zero-three-one-zero. Jeremy’s birthday, March tenth. Jeremy’s PIN is zero-nine-two- . . . Zero-nine- . . . Michael’s birthday . . .

“Why,” Jeremy repeats over and over between heaving breaths. “Why, why, why,” can’t he remember what date that is? A fucking kindergartner could figure that out.

Jeremy feels the car accelerate and Michael must be speeding because before it seems possible, the car’s stopped and the passenger door is open and Michael is holding Jeremy’s hand and running his other through Jeremy’s hair as Jeremy rides out his panic attack in the passenger seat of Michael’s PT Cruiser because the Squip fucked up his brain so badly that he can’t convert four numbers to a date that he had so ingrained into his memory that it was his _PIN._

“Jeremy, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Michael repeats between soft shushing noises. “It’s just a number, yeah? You're okay.”

Michael unbuckles Jeremy’s seat belt.

“I’m the worst,” Jeremy mumbles, listening to the soft _whoosh_ of it retracting.

“No, you’re not,” Michael hums. “You’re the opposite of the worst. You’re the best. The bestest.”

“I can’t,” Jeremy hiccups. His PIN. Just like that’s it’s gone. “I can’t remember my PIN. Your birthday, Michael,” his voice cracks and he swallows. “You just t-told me, and it’s already-already gone.”

Michael is nodding his head to the rhythm of the car’s insistent beeping, lost in thought. Jeremy sniffs, wipes tears away with the sleeve of his cardigan, and takes in his surroundings. The driver’s door is thrown wide open and the engine is still on. Michael's cherry slushee is half melted in the cup holder. They’re in Michael’s driveway, but the car isn’t parked well. The driver’s door is holding back some tree branches and at least one tire is on the lawn.

Jeremy feels the worst.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow to the bank,” Michael says, pulling Jeremy out of the car.

Jeremy stands there feeling like the world is off balance as he watches Michael walk around the car, ducking under some branches, to turn the engine off. “For what?’

Michael smiles at him sadly as he pulls the keys out of the ignition, killing the beeping.

“To change your PIN.”

**Author's Note:**

> (psst comments make me write more and literally make my day, so all feedback, including constructive criticism, is greatly appreciated)  
> Thanks for reading! <3


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